


The Little Prophet

by VerityGrahams



Series: The Houses Competition - Year Five - Lions [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Backstory, Gen, Hippy, Sybill Trelawney's childhood, Why Sybill predicts everyones doom, false predictions, hippy trelawney
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-25 00:27:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21347269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerityGrahams/pseuds/VerityGrahams
Summary: Sybill was a darling child; her hair fell into long blonde ringlets, and she wore a beautiful crown of daisies around her head. She wore huge milk-bottle-bottom glasses, and her bright blue eyes were magnified, giving her a bug-like appearance. This was only accentuated by the numerous shawls, necklaces, and scarves of her mother's that she wore as she pranced around the house, imitating her father and predicting the good fortune of all.
Relationships: Mrs Trelawney & Mr Trelawney, Sybill Trelawney & Mr Trelawney, Sybill Trelawney & Mrs Trelawney
Series: The Houses Competition - Year Five - Lions [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1538866
Kudos: 4





	The Little Prophet

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I do not own Harry Potter
> 
> Written for The Houses Competition
> 
> House: Lions
> 
> Class: Potions
> 
> Category: Standard
> 
> Prompt: [Character] Sybill Trelawney
> 
> Wordcount: 2131

The Little Prophet

There was a little cottage in a village called Mould-on-the-wold. It was densely populated by wizard-kind; however, they were hidden from Muggles, as was the law. There was one family that was an exception – of sorts. The Trelawney family was known to be unusual. Mrs Trelawney was a Muggle, but was considered to be… _bohemian_, and her husband, Mr Trelawney, was a wizard, and thought to be quite peculiar. In fact, her marriage to Mr Trelawney only encouraged her family's view of her as a hippie. Their oddities were brought together in their singular delight: Sybill Trelawney. She possessed all her mother's quirkiness, the strange occurrences of wizarding-kind, and her father's rather strange idea that she was a prophet.

She was raised with values of non-violence, the belief that love conquers all, and the idea that world-peace was just within mankind's grasp – if only everyone could love one another. Her father, the prophet, welcomed anyone into his home. He would read palms, tea-leaves, and perform Tarot readings, and he always promised good fortune. Her mother carefully maintained an ambience of serenity, offering tea or perhaps something a little stronger. Her brownies were considered to be a cure for anxiety, depression – if one had a repeat prescription, they could live in a completely blissed out state on an almost permanent basis!

Sybill was a darling child; her hair fell into long blonde ringlets, and she wore a beautiful crown of daisies around her head. She wore huge milk-bottle-bottom glasses, and her bright blue eyes were magnified, giving her a bug-like appearance. This was only accentuated by the numerous shawls, necklaces, and scarves of her mother's that she wore as she pranced around the house, imitating her father and predicting the good fortune of all.

One afternoon, a young girl came for a crystal ball reading. She had a suitor and planned to marry soon, but she could not act without Mr Trelawney's assurances that this marriage would work out for her. The woman was demure looking, with sleek brown hair that was held in a plait across her shoulder, a porcelain complexion, and chocolatey-brown eyes. She sat waiting as the music, a serene mix of flutes and strings, and incense clouded the room, setting the young girl at ease. Sybill, as always, welcomed her.

"Welcome, miss." Sybill smiled as she showed her to a cosy pouffe and took her shoes. "My father, the prophet, will be ready shortly," she said in a misty sort of voice.

Sybill then left the girl alone in a room that was filled with candles, incense, and a vast amount of curtains and drapery. Sybill slipped through a wall of sheer satin curtains and then tiptoed up the stairs to where her father would be waiting.

"Daddy!" she called. "Daddy, a lady is here, and she needs a crystal ball reading!"

Sybill burst through the door to find her father laying in his bed, leaning against a mountain of pillows, his head lolled to one side sleepily.

"Why is Daddy asleep?" Sybill asked, aghast. "The lady needs to know if she should marry!" Her tone lost the airy feel, scandalised by the thought of her father still being in bed at this hour.

Her mother dabbed her husband's head, and a weak groan slipped from his lips. Her father, Halithersis, tried to push himself up.

"Hal," his wife scolded. "You need to rest if there is any chance of you getting better!"

Sybill watched as her father slumped back into his pillows; all his strength had seemingly slipped away. Through her overly large glasses, the tears that started to form were magnified, and her lip trembled.

"Is Daddy okay?"

Her mother smiled at her. "Daddy is just a little under the weather," she replied.

"So, Daddy will get better?" she asked, eyeing her mother carefully.

"You tell me, my little Seer!"

Sybill didn't notice the forced smile or the tear that was swiftly wiped away. She only saw her father, as he beckoned her to him.

"My little princess," he said, his voice wheezy and weak. "You have the eye, I know it." He smiled at her, and finally, the light reached his eyes, and Sybill knew it would be okay. "You are just like my great-grandma Cassandra, and she was the most famous Seer of all, and you will be too."

"I know, Daddy. Great-Great-Grandma Cassandra was the greatest Seer, and that's why I know you will be just fine." She smiled brightly. "I can _see_ it, Daddy!"

"While Daddy is getting better, you need to start doing the seeing for everyone downstairs. Can you do that for Daddy?" he asked.

"Yes!" Sybill grinned and jumped off the bed. "Don't worry, Daddy, I can see for you. When you get better, we can do it together!" Sybill giggled excitedly as she ran downstairs.

Sybill was at ease, sure that her father would be well soon.

"Hal, the doctor said that you had Scro–" Heather stumbled over the strange word, distressed as she was, and she very unused to magical medicine.

"Scrofungulus," he said, half coughing. "And they are Healers, not doctors."

"They still said that you wouldn't get any better. The potions have stopped working, just like they said they would."

"Sybill could be right; she could have the sight!"

"Hal, enough is enough, you don't have the sight. This is all a shambles! You lie to people to make them feel better, and then you give them potions that heal Muggle illnesses or cast a spell to bring whatever solution you predict. It's fraud, and I don't mind, because it makes people's lives better."

She pulled back the bandages on his neck, revealing a raised, angry rash; the skin was cracked and angry. She dabbed at the irritated wounds, removing all traces of the foul pus that excreted from the many scabs that marked his neck and chest.

"It's spreading."

"Heather, she looks just like my great-grandmother Cassandra. I am sure she has the gift," he said with a smile. "She could be right."

"Don't be ridiculous, Hal. Even magic cannot predict the future; you have taught me that, at least. If this ointment from St Mungo's cannot cure you, then I am sure a flimsy heart-felt prophecy from our daughter can't either, and lying about this is just cruel."

* * *

Meanwhile downstairs, Sybill gazed into the crystal ball. Inside the glass sphere, smoke consumed an image, and Sybill began to interpret the mists.

"I see him, your gentleman friend," she whispered in a husky voice. "His arms are wrapped around a young woman, and they are very happy."

"The woman is me?" the girl asked desperately.

Sybill smiled and whispered in that misty, airy tone, "Yes, I can tell he loves you deeply!"

Sybill was ecstatic as she finished her first professional reading. As she watched the young woman walk out of the door, she marvelled at the money she had just made, and the lovely tip of sweets. What really made Sybill happy was the smile she saw on the young woman's face — that was what mattered most.

* * *

For the next few weeks, Sybill continued to take her father's place as the local prophet. She enjoyed her work, so much so that she barely noticed her father's declining health — not until her mother finally spoke to her about her father's condition.

"Sybill," her mother called.

Sybill skipped into the room as she placed fresh daisies in her hair. "Yes, Mother?"

"We are going to be closing today," she began. Heather fiddled with the edge of her long scarf, pulling at loose threads.

"But people need the prophet!" Sybill exclaimed.

"Family comes first," her mother scolded.

It was highly uncharacteristic of her mother, and as Sybill looked up, she noticed the red around her eyes, the trembling of her lip, and how her hands shook nervously. Sybill rushed to her mother's side.

"It's your father, Sybill. He is not getting better, and the Healers say that we must be ready for the worst!" Heather's voice quivered just as much as her hands, finally verbalising to the child what she had known for so long — her beloved Hal would die.

"Daddy will be okay." Sybill smiled. "I see it in my inner eye!" she proclaimed.

"No, Sybill, you cannot, and neither can your father." Heather pulled the child in front of her. "You cannot see the future, neither can he. He uses magic to make people's lives better, but he can't predict anything!"

"I can see it!" Sybill refused to back down. "Just like I can see that the lovely lady will be happy with her new husband! You cannot understand, because you don't _see!_ Not like me, and not like Daddy. You are a Muggle, and you do not understand magic!"

"Sybill, I want you to prepare yourself for the worst; it will hurt all the more if you believe this foolishness!"

And that was that. Sybill walked off, furious that her mother would ever question her – angry that her mother could even think that her father would not beat some silly illness. Where life for the Trelawney family had always been happy, carefree and filled with love, now there was only tension. Heather wished only for her innocent child to understand what was to come, but Sybill refused to believe. Her faith in her own sight was secure, unwavering even. That was until she received a visit from a previous customer.

* * *

It was in the early evening that the young woman returned. She was not quite so beautiful as before; her sleek brown hair was unkempt and was arranged to hide her face. Her clear brown eyes were now blood-shot, and her porcelain skin was blotchy and tear-stained. The first time that Sybill had seen her, she had a hopeful expression; now her face was filled with anger and heartache. This was what Sybill saw as the young woman banged on the door, demanding to see the great prophet. Heather would only speak to her at the door, but Sybill heard everything.

"I demand to see your so-called prophet!" the woman began. "You're all frauds! You take money from the innocent while you lie, claiming to have a truth that you don't!"

Heather tried to hush the woman, to usher her out of the door. But the heartbroken customer would have none of it.

"The husband that your little prophet claimed '_loved me more than anything_?' Well I found him loving someone else instead! He left me to marry her, his so-called '_true love'_."

The woman sobbed and held the young girl, offering her a shoulder to cry on. Heather, of course, had done the right thing. She apologised and admitted that it was a sham, that while her husband believed in the gift, he did not have it. She refunded her, consoled her, and of course offered her those miraculous brownies that were renowned for giving the consumer a blissfully happy state.

"These will make you feel better, at least for a time," she promised.

* * *

Sybill was shaken by what she heard, and how her prediction had gone horribly wrong. It brought with it a doubt that she couldn't shake.

Her father spent the days after telling her that she did indeed have 'the gift', but that sometimes you don't always see the best outcome. He reminded her that sometimes the worst happens, and predicting the best does not mean that it will be. He taught her the skills that he said that she would need to hone her craft, but never wavered in his belief that she had the sight.

"_I remember my Great-Grandmother Cassandra," he would say. "You are just like her."_

Weeks later, after Sybill had thought about the woman, her prediction, and what her father had said, and her confidence grew. Maybe she did know the truth, but she had simply assumed it was a happy ending. Perhaps she was supposed to tell the beautiful woman that he loved someone else. She ran to her father's room to discuss it, but all she found was an empty bed and her mother, who was in tears.

"Where is Daddy?" she asked. "Is he better now?"

Sybill waited with bated breath, hoping that her mother would say that she was just so happy that her father made such a miraculous recovery, but she knew that he hadn't. In her heart, Sybill knew; all this time she told herself what she wanted to hear, not the truth.

Her mother never did answer the question. She picked up her little girl and wrapped her arms around her as she sobbed into her mother's chest.

"I will never predict a good thing again. Nothing good ever happens!"

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, please comment and kudos


End file.
